Man On A Ledge
by caremkefo
Summary: When Dean Winchester is standing on the narrow ledge outside of his apartment window ready to jump, it's Detective Castiel Milton's job to talk him down. The only problem is, Castiel is battling his own suicidal thoughts. Will they save each other, or will they jump together?
1. Dean

**I know I should be working on my other stories at the moment, but I was watching _Man On A Ledge _when inspiration struck and I just had to write this.**

* * *

Dean digs his feet into the concrete ledge, pressing his back against the wall as he looks down. The street below is completely blocked off – police cars at either end preventing traffic from passing through and he knows, even if he can't see it, that police tape will be strung around the front of the apartment block to keep the nosey civilians, who look more like ants from up here, from getting too close. He is awed at how small everything appears from up here.

"Sergeant Winchester."

The sudden voice from the window to his right makes him jump slightly, and his heart catches in his throat. For as much as he came up here to throw himself off, his survival instinct is screaming for him to take those precious few steps back towards the window and climb back in to safety.

"I'm Detective Castiel Milton," the voice continues, "and I understand you asked for me."

Dean nods in acknowledgement of the man's presence, but doesn't take his eyes from the crowds gathering below.

"So what brings you out here today, Sergeant?"

The cop is calm. Too calm.

"Besides the view?" Dean jokes.

The cop doesn't even smile.

"Do you have any friends or family you wish me to call for you?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

This guy is persistent, and Dean smirks. "No." There is a pause, and then, "My mother's dead," he tells him, and he's not sure why. The words just come tumbling out of his mouth of their own accord, and no matter how much he wants to he can't take them back.

"Is that why you're out here?"

"In a way," Dean answers. Which isn't actually a lie. He'd been out on a routine patrol with a pretty blonde soldier called Jo, who reminded him in a way of his mother, when they'd come under attack. Both of them died that day, the only difference between them being that Dean was still walking. He'd gone to her funeral last week. Jo's death is the last link in a chain of events that all started with the house fire in which his mom died in Lawrence, Kansas, 22 years ago today.

"Do you wish to discuss it?"

"No."

The cop says nothing, leaving a silence for Dean to fill. He hates silence – it makes him feel alone; that's why there's always music blaring in his car whenever he goes out driving. The faint cries from the crowd down below whose words carry up on the breeze aren't quite loud or distinct enough to ease his nerves. He hears someone shouting at him to jump, and he sets his jaw. Not yet. Not quite yet.

"You know, I'm not really good with heights," Dean tells him.

"Then this is a strange way for you to choose to leave this world."

"I don't like flying, either - but that didn't stop me from shipping out on a six-month tour in Afghanistan."

"I'll bet that was tough," the cop says.

"What'd you say your name was, again?"

"Castiel."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's... unique. I think I'll just stick with Cas."

Castiel shrugged. "Call me whatever you like."

There is no way that Dean should be seeing the innuendo in his words given the circumstances, so he blames the deep, gravelly voice. He cleared his throat. "You know this job of yours, it's a pretty grim way to make a living," he says, desperate to feel like he has someone there with him. Which he does, but the cop's not _with_ _him_, with him – he's just _there_.

"You can't save everyone," comes the reply. "I never forget those I fail, but I try to focus on those I can help."

Calm, and controlled. Unlike Dean.

"I'm hoping you're one of them," he continues.

"Do you have a lot of friends on the force?"

"Not really," he shrugs.

Dean catches the slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He says it so casually, like there's nothing he can do about it yet he _accepts_ it. It just is.

"You know, you and me – we've got a lot in common," Dean tells him.

He looks over, looking at the cop for the first time, and digs his feet in harder. He was expecting the guy to look neutral, almost bored – which he does – but it's just a mask. Dean can see the depth of the underlying concern in his blue eyes; the eyes that are far older than the rest of him. He's seen too much, Dean can tell, but he has never stopped caring. He's got too much heart for the job, and Dean wonders how much longer he'll be able to take it. Guys like him don't last long. Not unless they find a way to switch off.

"Sergeant, I know you're desperate. I can see that," Castiel tries again to get through to him. "But these people down there, they don't care. They want you to jump. But I _do_ care."

"I know," Dean says. Again, he's not even aware of talking until he hears the words and realises it's _his_ voice he can hear.

"Can I get you anything?"

"How about a double cheeseburger?" Dean chuckles, until he's hit with the finality of it. His last meal. "And a slice of pie," he adds wryly.

"How about a drink to go with that?" Castiel asks, and he's still so damned _composed_ that Dean can't tell if he's joking or not.

"Coke," he says, and Castiel nods.

One of his legs is starting to cramp up, so Dean starts to roll the ankle joint in the hope of helping his circulation – not that it'll help much. And he's going to be suffering from a lot worse than cramp soon.

He looks up at the sky. There are storm clouds in the distance.

"There's a storm coming," he notes.

"The weather report says there's a fifty-fifty chance that it might break up before it gets here," Castiel tells him conversationally.

The cramp in his leg is gone now, but when he puts his foot down it's too near the edge and he loses his footing. There is a moment when he could swear that his heart had stopped as blind panic sets in, but as soon as it's started it's over. There is a collective intake of breath from down below, and Dean almost feels sorry for disappointing them. He regains his balance and pants as he once again presses his back against the brick wall behind him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says, casting a quick glance over at Castiel, and that's when he sees the outstretched hand still hovering in midair, too far away to be of any use. But that still hadn't stopped the guy from instinctively reaching out to Dean. So, this guy really _does_ care. His blue eyes are wide with fear – the same fear that's currently running through Dean's veins and forcing his heart to work twice as fast. But cocky bravado takes over then, because Dean Winchester doesn't do fear. "I've never felt more alive."

"I don't think you want to jump," Castiel tells him, and maybe this guy can see right through all the layers Dean hides under until he's staring at his freaking soul.

"Is there a moment that you can tell if someone's going to go off or not?"

Castiel's head cocks to the side and his blue eyes narrow as if surprised at Dean's question. "Sometimes," he admits, nodding. "Sometimes you can tell. You can feel them give up."

"I think you've already given up," Dean tells him.

Castiel's eyes widen, and his mouth opens and closes. In that brief moment that he loses his composure, Dean can see the pain that's eating him up inside; the weight he's carrying.

"Don't give up on me," Dean asks him, and he's almost begging. Almost.

"I'm going to get you off this ledge," Cas promises.

"Dead or alive?" Dean quips.

"Alive," comes the sincere reply, and Dean almost hopes that he's right.


	2. Castiel

"Your burger," Castiel tells him, showing him a brown paper bag.

"What?"

Dean sounds bewildered, and Castiel isn't surprised. He's pretty sure the man was joking when he asked for a burger, but he'd one of the officers go and fetch one anyway. Well, two - he's hungry, because he'd skipped breakfast this morning, and a quick glance at his watch had told him it's now well past lunch.

"Why don't you come in and tell me about whatever it is? Where it's safer, you know?" he asks Dean. "Just the two of us."

"Not going to happen," Dean says, shaking his head.

So he leans out the window and passes the paper bag out to Dean, who takes it gratefully. "Do you mind if I join you?" Castiel asks, showing Dean his own lunch.

"Go right ahead," Dean says through a mouthful of food. "Oh my God – that is _good_!"

Castiel smiles at him, and carefully negotiates his way out of the window and onto the ledge. He stumbles slightly, and strong arm traps him between it and the building.

"Dude, be _careful_," Dean hisses in his ear.

Castiel looks at him sheepishly, and realises that Dean had done a quick one-eighty turn on the narrow ledge – now facing the building and hugging the brickwork – in order to help him.

"You have very good balance," he says in amazement, when what he means to say is "_Thank you_."

Dean grunts, and edges his way around until his back is against the wall once again.

They eat in silence for a minute, or rather _Dean_ eats in silence – Castiel eats while his boss screams in his ear to stop being so stupid.

"Things will get better," he tells Dean, ignoring his bosses order to get back inside _now_!

"If you can't believe that yourself, how can you expect me to believe that?"

He stares at Dean, not really sure what to say to that. Dean's right, of course, but he didn't think he was _that_ transparent. Certainly his family, nor the people he worked with, never seemed to pick up on his moods. He suddenly realises that two green eyes are still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"You're right," he says eventually, and his boss starts lecturing him in his ear about _protocol_ and that if Dean jumps now it'll be Castiel's neck on the line – that's _if_ Dean doesn't take Castiel over the edge with him. "I can't expect you to believe something _I_ don't even believe."

But Dean doesn't jump. He just nods as if he appreciates Castiel's honesty and takes another bite of his burger.

"But I have faith," Castiel continues, and it's cathartic being able to talk about how he feels with someone who doesn't know him, or have expectations of him, and who doesn't care. "I used to believe it, and I have faith that I'll believe it again in time. I know how you feel, because I've found myself thinking about this lately."

His boss starts shouting at him in his ear again, and Castiel removes the earpiece with a relieved sigh.

"These make me very happy," Castiel tells him, holding the burger up.

"You're easily pleased."

Castiel smiles.

"Shouldn't you be telling me that nothing's worth throwing myself off a building for, that I've got my whole life ahead of me, and that I should come back inside with you?"

Castiel nods. "Yes."

"But instead you've come out here with me and are telling me that you're suicidal as well?"

"Yes," Castiel says again.

"Good," Dean says, not understanding at all. And neither does Castiel. "Just so we're on the same page, then."

"Dean. Do me a favour. I want you to visualise something positive. If you could be anywhere in the world, what would you be doing? Anything at all."

Dean thinks for a moment, and smirks. "I'd be in bed, underneath a couple of beautiful women."

Castiel's stomach clenches involuntarily. "If it was me, I'd be having dinner at Angelo's," he says quietly.

"Yeah?" Dean says. "Where's that, then?"

"It's this cosy little Italian place on the corner of 9th and West 57th Street. They have live music and their meatballs are amazing – bite-sized and not too herby. Their lasagne is good, too – it holds its shape perfectly without being too dry. And they have the crispiest garlic bread you've ever eaten—"

"It sounds nice," Dean agrees.

Castiel is abashed at how carried away he's gotten. "It is," he says quickly. "You should try it sometime."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Castiel blushes. "No."

"Because this thing that we've got going on here, I think we should cool it down before you get into trouble." But then Dean winks at him.

"This 'thing'?" Castiel echoes in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Damn it, Cas," Dean says, almost to himself, as he rubs a hand across his face. "I'm just looking out for you."

"And why would I need you to look out for me?"

"Well you wouldn't want Mr Ear-Piece to accuse you of getting distracted from the job by my good looks - it wouldn't be good for business if I went over. You know what I mean?"

_If_, Castiel thinks to himself. Not _when_, but _if_.

"Though you should know - just for the record? I swing both ways," Dean adds, when Castiel doesn't say anything.

Castiel swallows so loudly he's surprised Dean doesn't hear him. "Well why don't you come back inside and I'll let you buy me dinner?"

Castiel slaps a hand across his mouth as he realises what he's just said, for that hadn't even been a conscious thought before the words had left his mouth. Dean stares at him, like he can't believe what Castiel has just asked him, but then he smiles and Castiel decides he likes the way his whole face lights up when he does.

"It's tempting," Dean smiles. "But I don't think that's a good idea."

"You have somewhere better to be?" Castiel says boldly, and Dean barks a short laugh.

"No," he admits, and he's grinning now. He scrunches up the burger wrapper and tosses it over the side. "I don't think they're going to arrest me for littering. Did you get pie, too?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "Apple - but I left it inside. I wasn't really planning on coming out here."

"Never mind," Dean tells him.

"Sergeant—"

"Call me Dean. We're getting pretty intimate out here, after all," he says, and has his voice always been this deep and rough?

"Dean, then," Castiel says, trying to ignore the warm feeling pooling in his belly. "I have to ask – why did you ask for me?"

"I saw that your sister died. Figured you and me, we're in the same boat." When Castiel doesn't respond, Dean asks, "What was she like?"

Castiel tenses, and he knows immediately that he's said the wrong thing.

"Sorry."

Castiel shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting you to ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else has."

"All these people you work with and not one of them has tried to talk to you about it?"

"Balthazar would have."

"Would have?" Dean prompts.

"He died. Two days after Anna. In the line of duty." He chokes back a sob, and a warm hand squeezes his shoulder. "The soldier - Jo - do you feel responsible for her death?"

Dean tips his head back against the wall and exhales loudly.

"We took cover in an abandoned building," he says slowly. "We checked the rooms and it was all clear."

A single tear falls down Dean's cheek, and Castiel can feel his own tears building for what's coming next.

"I fucked up, man. There was a guy in the back room, and I don't know how I missed him. We thought the building was clear, and I was so busy shooting back at those outside while Jo radioed the base that I didn't see him creep up behind us until I heard Jo shout and then there was a shot and..." He trails off, eyes clenched tightly shut. "Every time I close my damned eyes I see her, lying there. When I sleep, I see her mom, Ellen, wailing in grief at her funeral."

"Anna," Castiel says, because they're sharing, now, "was the black sheep of the family. Our parents had cast her out, and her life became very difficult. She was in psychiatric care for a while, but she got better. Then I got a phone call from Balthazar, telling me she'd jumped from the bridge. I wish she'd _called_ me, we could have talked about it. But I hadn't seen much of her in years - not after she left."

"I'm sorry," Dean says, and he means it. It's not the generic, "_I'm sorry for your loss_," because Dean truly know how he feels. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

"It really is a nice view from up here," Castiel says, changing the subject.

Dean lets him. "Yeah. You almost forget what the world looks like when you're down there."

"I hate the city," Castiel says. He's never realised it until now, but he does. He hates the crowds and the cars and not being able to see trees that aren't in some landscaped park.

"So why do you live here?"

"Because my family do."

"The family who didn't rally around when your sister died? Some family."

"They're all I have."

"You and me, we should get out of here," Dean says. "Go away, and find some small little town in the country. What do you say? I think we both need to just get away from it all."

"You'd have to come back inside, first," Castiel points out.

"Yeah," Dean says. "But I'm going to have to go back inside to get that pie anyway, because if it's as good as that burger I'm not jumping without eating it."

"You're not going to jump?"

"Not today." Dean looks at the sky, now clear and blue with not a cloud in sight. "Maybe only one person died that day after all," he mutters to himself.

"What?" Castiel asks, not quite catching what Dean just said.

"Nothing." Dean shakes his head. "But it looks like that storm broke up after all."

Castiel holds his hand out, and Dean takes it. Three minutes later they're both standing inside when Castiel shuts the window with a thud.

"I told you I'd get you off that ledge alive," Castiel tells him, with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

"You also said something about dinner," Dean reminds him.

Castiel realises then that Dean still hasn't let go of his hand.


End file.
